Fallen Leaves
by Quasar-Hunter
Summary: The tributes fall like the leaves in this year's Autumn forest-themed Hunger Games. Twenty-four enter, each with their own pasts. Who gets to have a future after the 34th Hunger Games? All-OC cast.
1. A Quote

l(a

le  
af  
fa

ll  
s)  
one  
l

iness

\- _e. e. cummings_


	2. A Glimpse

_{A/N: All characters except President Snow are created from my own mind. The world and President Snow belong to Suzanne Collins. When you see long lists- like the one following this author's note- know that each section is said by a living tribute in district order, male first, followed by female (D1m, d1f, d2m, etc.). Hope you enjoy! ^^}_

* * *

"Today's the day—the day I make the Kings a proud name—a feared name— once more."

"I apply a dusting of glitter on my cheeks, for just the right shimmer when I'm on camera."

"I know Dad wants this for me. I want to want this. I just can't put my heart into it."

"It'll be fierce competition to get in, but I know I've got it in the bag. I've got to start thinking about my PTS."

"The last thing I need is to get reaped. I've got too much to do."

"Belle is the first to the table when I call. "Momma is puking," she announces and I glance at the cooling plate of breakfast I've set down. It's already been two years since they took Sammy."

"Dad makes me shower after checking crab traps. This water soothes my skin, but not my soul."

"I've been up since 5, practicing knife throwing. At this point, I could hit that bullseye blind."

"I dropped the milk on the way into the house, so I figure getting reaped is the only thing that could make this day worse."

"Momma wants me to wear my best shoes, but they pinch my toes. I don't have to look my best. I won't get reaped anyways."

"I decide to take my book with me, to read while I wait for some sap to get reaped."

"My fingers tremble as I slide the clip into place, snapping it against my head."

"I run my fingers through my hair. Three more Reapings and I'm free."

"I went out early to chop firewood, but nearly chopped my finger off. Would they still take me if I was injured?"

"Dad doesn't bother opening the shop this morning. I don't blame him. Layla may have died during the Games six years ago, but we've always said it was the Reaping that killed her. She almost won. She could've come home. A victor at twelve years old."

"It's Bobbin's last year to get reaped, but I've still got six left. Lucky bastard."

"The only good thing about the Reaping is that I don't have to go to the factory for work."

"He finishes and I lay back against the pillows before lighting a cigarette. Just another scared boy who doesn't want to get reaped as a virgin. He puts on his pants and leaves me to wonder if heels would be out of place."

"Bull says I don't have to worry. There's only one piece of paper for me. I've still been having dreams about it, though."

"I start with vodka shots as soon as I wake. Then, spend the morning with a rum bottle. Why go to hell sober?"

"Father reads from the Fourth Chapter, like he always does on Reaping Day. You shall tread down the wicked, for they will be ashes under the soles of your feet."

"I crawl into bed with Sebastian. I have a bad feeling—a really horrible feeling about today."

"Juniper got back late last night from her session with the Peace Keeper. She brings some molding croissants and I pray I get reaped instead of her. No one so gentle deserves the Games."

"I smile as Digg rubs some coal over my cheekbones for war paint. You never feel so scared when you've got war paint."


	3. A Slip

Looking up at the stage, you watch as the mayors take their places in their chairs and the reaping bowls are turned one way or another. You

fidget with your wristwatch.

check your make-up in your handheld mirror.

wipe your sweating palms on your pants, preparing to say those hateful words.

whisper to your best friend on your right, "Let's hope this goes fast."

dispassionately study the sweating faces closest to you.

hold on to Belle, your mother's face still coated in tears.

fiddle with a small rope in your hands, knotting and unknotting over and over.

take hold of your girlfriend's hand and give it a small squeeze.

twist your lips into a smile as a friend cracks a perverted joke.

tug your dress down just a little further.

turn the page of your novel, your head buried in the white pages.

rub grains out of your green eyes, wishing for more sleep.

run quivering fingers through your hair.

hold down breakfast.

inhale and then sigh deeply, relaxing to one side.

glance over the crowd of guys, mentally listing their dick sizes.

look over the other boys in your row, wondering if they're as scared.

take another swig of everclear from the flask in your jacket pocket.

mutter the Second Chapter under your breath.

look at the empty space around you and the glares in your direction.

scan the girl's group, looking for Juniper.

wonder if your warpaint is smudged.

Your escorts take the stage, their unnaturally colored hair looking out of place against the cement Justice Building. Their grins are like fermenting fruit: sickly sweet.

"Hardly can I believe that a whole year has passed since I have seen all of your beautiful, glimmering faces!" they exclaim. "Well, perhaps not all of them after all, we have some newcomers to the pool- some passers-on. No matter! We have a special video straight from the Capitol for you all."

Skulls, explosions, death, slaughter. Through it all, the Capitol: steadfast in its love and regret. Almost sad that they require tributes from the districts.

Almost.

It ends and your escorts clasp their hands together. "Wasn't that wonderful? Now, let's get down to business. The 34th annual Hunger Games reaping! We'll do ladies first."

They reach their gloved hands into the bowl, fishing for just the right white slip. They don't know your names in the sea of all the faces. They'll only learn of two of them, perhaps not even bother with your name. Who cares, after all, about the ones who do not win?

Painted, open lips. Moving teeth and tongues. Thrumming throats. The names.

"Ever Tyndale."

 _("I volunteer!" you exclaim, jumping to your feet and dashing to the stage, your practiced grin already lighting up your face._

 _"Your name, young lady?"_

 _" **Bubble Thespers.** ")_

"Sheba Rens."

 _("I volunteer as tribute," you say, slowly rising to your feet and carefully stepping towards the front._

 _"And what might your name be?"_

 _" **Galena Hill.** ")_

" **Flicker Borne.** "

 _("No. No, dear God, no," your mother is screaming. "NOT MY DAUGHTER! PLEASE!"_

 _The Peacekeepers are motioning for you to exit the ranks and you step forward, numbly, not understanding._

 _"No, no no no no," Belle sobs, fastening herself to your torso. "No, Flicker- Flicker don't."_

 _"Either volunteer in my place or let go," you say softly before her eyes widen in shock and she releases you. You're walking to the stage, but feel like you're crawling through barbed wire.)_

" **Starboard Addams.** "

 _(You take a deep breath, gathering your strength. You smile at Lacey and squeeze her hand before leaning in for a kiss. You take the first step._

 _The first step towards returning home for her.)_

" **October Zore.** "

 _(They instantly back away from you, as though being a tribute was something contagious and you look down at your feet, letting your bangs hide your eyes, but more importantly your tears._

 _A rough, gloved hand grips your upper arm and drags you from the rest of them. "No, no- please-" you say to the one clamping on to you. "Please- I have five siblings. They need me-"_

 _"The Capitol needs you more. Get your ass on stage.")_

" **Miriam Kinzler.** "

 _(There's a shriek, like someone has pinched the sides of a balloon opening and is letting it wither away. Your friends are staring at you, open-mouthed, but you can't see them. All you can see is a fleshy pink hand, gripping a slip of solid white paper, with your name on it._

 _The Peacekeepers wrest you from the mob of girls and push you to the beginning of the stage and the beginning of what you're certain is to be your death.)_

" **Thistle Talbert.** "

 _(Your stomach drops into your intestines. Your mouth goes dry and all you can do is cling to yourself. Hooking your hands around your upper arms and crossing them, you hold yourself like you'd put on a straight jacket._

 _There was no fight left in the farthest reaches of your body when you were tossed up onto the stage.)_

" **Needle Kelly.** "

 _(You'd always promised yourself you'd be brave. That it could happen to anyone. That you'd make the best of it, like you always did with everything else. You were Mom and Dad's happy girl. You'd come out fine._

 _The tears started rolling down your cheeks as you reached the front, silently contradicting that staged smile plastered between your cheeks.)_

" **Barbie Duke.** "

 _(This wasn't expected or accounted for. This wasn't a situation where you could just suck someone off or blow someone's mind to get out of it. It was playing nationally. You could see the cameras turning towards you._

 _You looked around. The other girls could care less. One less slut to tempt their boyfriends- or in some cases, husbands- and to cause drama. Better the useless whore go to die and so you smile into the camera before strutting to the platform, thinking heels were definitely the best choice for such an occasion as this.)_

" **Nightmare Swift.** "

 _(You pull out your flask and drain the rest of it, enjoying the burning reminiscent of hell fire before stumbling out of the crowd. The Peacekeepers are more for supporting your drunken tromp up the stairs to greet your escort than to force you against your will. You nearly fall on your face, but they right you and push you towards the man with the flickering hair._

 _"Never go to hell sober," you tell yourself. "Never go to hell sober.")_

" **Rye Grimm.** "

 _("This is a_ Grimm _sort of situation," is what you'd like to say, just to break the tension, but the bad vibes emanating off the other girls is palpable and darkening. You grit your teeth._

 _"Rye!" Sebastian calls out. "Rye! I-"_

 _You shake your head and he instantly falls silent, his look of concern severed as though he'd used a guillotine on his emotions. You had that affect on him. You mounted the stage like a queen._

 _"I'll return higher than a queen," you promise yourself. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you promise Sebastian too.)_

" **Coal Plover.** "

 _(You thank Ripred for your warpaint. Maybe you should have put more on before going in, just to make sure your knees wouldn't wobble as much._

 _Somewhere, you could hear Digg and Margaret and Lark all calling your name. Gem, right next to you, looks up with her oceans-wide green eyes, pleading, questioning. Do you have to go?_

 _You're pulled out of the crowd by the Peacekeepers and punted at the stage. Can't cry now, or you'll smear your warpaint, and then where would you be?)_

The escorts smiled, just as they'd been taught. Smile through everything. It's all just a huge show. Most of these kids don't hate the Games. They just play it up. They're faking it all. It's all a lie. Isn't it? Aren't these teenagers raring to bring honor to their district? To come home victorious and rich?

"Now for the boys," they say, stretching out their other hand as though they were Moses, stretching out his hand to part the Red Sea and allow others to pass through to the other side. As though it were an honor. They pulled out the paper, unfolded it and read it.

"Hugh Klyne."

 _(You stand like the King you are- confidently, surely. You glance to your little sisters, all crowded together in the girl's section._

 _"I volunteer as tribute," you call out before jogging to your rightful place next to the escort._

 _"Your name?"_

 _" **Archer King**.")_

"Rin Fletcher."

 _(You could just let this Rin Fletcher go for you instead. You could let this kid leave instead of you. Bring shame to your family. To yourself._

 _The fear of your father's beatings- even still at eighteen years old- has you shooting your hand up like it had been popped from a jack-in-the-box. "I volunteer!"_

 _You tentatively remove yourself from the crowd, traipsing forward._

 _"And what would you be called?_

 _" **Jasper Ornem**.")_

" **Arcade Fodder.** "

 _(Every curse and expletive known to man come crashing through your mind at once. Not now. Not after all these years. Not after it's all that your father had ever wanted._

 _You shake your head, using that time to look from side to side to see that everyone is staring at your, their jaws glued shut. No one but you can save yourself, and even that you can't be certain of._

 _The peacekeepers grab you and haul you onto the stage next to the pumpkin-haired women who beckons you with black cat claws and a fanged grin._

 _If the devil was real, he'd look like that woman.)_

" **Pelican Poste.** "

( _It's a strange world- the one who traps becomes trapped. Although you have no tough blue-gray shell to hide behind. Only meat delectable to the Capitol. To those who would eat you alive if they had the chance._

 _You swallow, your throat quivering. It's too early for this. It's too early to die. It's too early to say good-bye._

 _It's too early to take these steps, one after another, to stand in front of your entire district._ )

" **Imu Jacobs.** "

( _"Well fuck," you say. "Fuck."_

 _You glance around, partly hoping for a volunteer, but knowing there wouldn't be one._

 _"Fucking bastards," you mutter under your breath as they grip your upper arms and wrest you to the stage to stand next to a gorgeous blonde girl._ )

" **Sosuke Hinata.** "

( _Oh? You look up from your book at the sound of your name. Is it really you? Interesting and highly improbable._

 _You smile before slowly closing the book and tucking it under one arm. The walk up to the front is simple. Calm. The crowd is hushed, as though not certain what to do with the boy who doesn't cry or plead or beg. The boy who smiles._

 _The boy who they know looks forward to the blood_.)

" **Aspen Cutler.** "

( _Your breath comes sharply, almost hurting the back of your throat. Almost as though your body thinks it could swallow the world and your problems with it. Not just problems now, though._

 _Fighting isn't in your nature. All you can do is stand- petrified, your mind blank as a painter's canvas. Staring at the pink blur up on the stage, pointing down at you now that the cameras are trained on you. How did they know? How could they have picked your name out of the crowd?_

 _You had three more to go, you think to yourself as they drag your limp body up onto the stage to puddle by the escort. Only three and you could've escaped._ )

" **Persian Delber.** "

( _Nothing has struck more fear in you since the name they called was Layla Delber. And now it was the whispers that scared you more than anything else._

 _"That's the second Delber child," one mother murmured behind him. "It's like they're cursed."_

 _You glance back at your parents, with eleven year old Delilah gripping onto Papa's hand. Their eyes are filled with tears, but their faces show nothing. Nothing to tempt the cameras. Nothing to tempt your tears._

 _And so you stand straight, tall, proud and walk forward. Never mind the tears pricking your eyes._ )

" **Petrol Blomquist**."

( _You wish it was a normal day. That you had eighteen hours a day at the factory for the next year. Maybe they'd let you trade that. Maybe they'd let you work instead of entertain. At the mortality rate would decrease._

 _But you scowl- your brow tightening as you glare up at the escort, all midnight blue and silver with spiked hair. You know it's not his fault, but he's the closest thing to who's to blame._

 _Your jaw clenched, you stalk up the aisle, to the stage, proud that they didn't lay a single guiding hand on you._ )

" **Lariat Finn.** "

( _Oh god no, you scream inside, your heart throwing itself at your rib cage, looking for an opening to escape._

 _"It was just one piece!" you tell the white garbed guards as they escort you up. "There has to be some mistake! There was only one slip!"_

 _There was only one!_ )

" **Malachi Thoreau.** "

 _(You step out and forward, reciting the Eleventh verse from the First Chapter under your breath._

 _"My name will be great among the nations, from where the sun rises to where it sets. In every place, incense and pure offerings will be brought to me, because my name will be great among the nations."_

 _You take the stage, standing next to the girl. Whatever her name was. You'd learn it on the journey to the Capitol anyways._ )

" **Mason Slagg.** "

( _"Juni!" you shout, looking around for her wildly then you stop- mentally slapping yourself for your cowardice._

 _She couldn't save you even if she wanted to. What kind of man are you, to keep bleeding your own sister dry? Your heart plods on and you wonder how it's possible for the whole world to stop, but it to keep beating. Maybe they can hear it. Maybe they can tell you're afraid._

 _A pussy._

 _You square your shoulders, but before you have the chance to walk yourself up, the peace keepers grab onto you and steer you with your upper arms. You make eye contact with Juni for just a brief moment and her eyes are swimming with tears, hands cupping over her lips._

 _Those beautiful lips that were only meant to smile._ )

They look over their charges. The sobbing/smiling/waving/scowling/staring/fearful teenagers who have yet to open up. But they'll be cracked. Oh, yes. They'll be interviewed and prettied and given a story and soon, they'll be performing.

"Happy Hunger Games," they say, "and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."


	4. Kings & Fools

I was never one for tearful good-byes. Not when my mother died. Not when my two older brothers decided to subvert my father's will and join the Peacekeepers instead of becoming tributes. Not when my various pets died. Not even now.

I look at my sisters, their eyes a blue like a warm, tropical sea and their small, innocent faces with freckles scattered across white china.

They look up at me and I can see it in those eyes that have all the depth of the deepest oceans, without the marks and scars that come with having your innocence ripped from clenched fists.

 _They look so much like Mom_ , I think, letting the thought flutter softly to the depths of silence.

"Archer?" Titania asks, taking a seat on the Persian carpet next to me. "You're coming back, right?"

The room is so opulent. Only a few of my closest friends could match the thick, soft rugs, the scarlet drapes and gold crown molding. I use the moment to compose myself before I look back at her.

"I should be, yeah."

They're both quiet for a while, Titania biting her lower lip like she always does when she's struggling to find the words for something. Levanna studies her sister closely without speaking, as she always does.

"Come here," I say, reaching my arms out to them. "I need a hug."

They scoot over without standing and attach themselves to me. Levanna throws her arms around me, burying her face in my shirt and against an abdomen that, when I'm completely honest with myself, is the only solid thing about me.

Titania opts for a more intimate hug from behind, so she can rest her chin on my shoulder. Her hair tickles the side of my face and catches in my jaw scruffle.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for just a fraction of a moment. "I'm not going to lie and tell you that I'll definitely be home. But think about it. Your brother has been training his whole life for this. There are only _maybe_ five other people who have been too, tops. It's very doubtful, however. I have the best chance out of them all to come home."

Titania adjusts her arms to be more relaxed around my neck. Levanna keeps her face buried in my shirt. I wonder if she's going to start crying.

"I'll be fine," I say with that well-worn smile and a pat to her little blonde head. "You'll see. I'll set records. I'll be the last one out of there."

"But why?" Titania asks. "Why do you have to do all that?"

"Because that's what father expects and if I didn't go in, he'd make sure one of you did and I can't let that happen to you."

"Why not? What if you die and then we have to go in anyways?"

"That's not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

I shrug. "We're Kings. We're born to be victors."

We sit there for the rest of the time- there on the floor by the silken couches. Titania burying her face into my shoulder as I hold her hand. Levanna crying softly as she presses her cheek against my leg.

I stroke her hair.

 _I have to do this for them. Win for them. Protect them. Kings aren't just born to be victors. We're supposed to be defenders._

The door creaks open and I look up to see the white-haired escort with talons and slit pupils. He looks more like an animal than a man.

"Come along, Archer," he says. "We must be going. Finish your good-byes."

With one last, forceful hug, Titania's tears break loose and Levanna's tears become sobs.

"Please come back, Archer," Titania begs. "Don't leave us for good."

"I promise," I tell her, kissing her forehead. "It'll all be okay."

Mom and Dad sit across from me on the scarlet sofa. I took the armchair. Between us crouches a dark-wood coffee table with some of Mom's powdered sugar cookies.

"I've never known whether to be concerned or certain when this day came, Bubble," she says. "Whether to be comforted knowing I'd be welcoming home a victor, or to worry about you never coming home at all."

"But no matter what," Dad adds, reaching over and taking your hand, "Know that we're proud of you. That you found your dream, worked for it, prepared for it and that now you have the chance to fulfill it."

"How long have you two been preparing to say this?"

Mom smiles. "Since you came home telling us all about how you wanted to volunteer for the Games."

"If you're worried about me, you shouldn't be," I tell her, letting my lips curve into the glimmer of a smile. "I'm coming home. I know more about the Games and strategy for it than anyone else. I know how to fight better than anyone. It'll be a cinch."

"Pride comes before a fall," Dad says. "Confidence, not pride, is key. We believe in you. Just know that."

"Thanks, Dad," I reply before reaching for one of the cookies. It coats the inside of my mouth with the powder, making it instantly dry. The shortbread crumbles before releasing the taste of butter and sugar. I chew carefully, swallow and then wipe away the powder I can still feel stuck to the fine hair around my lips with your hands. "How're the others taking it?"

"About the same. You know Midnight- being a bit of a drama queen."

I laugh. "Yeah. She didn't want to come say good-bye?"

"She wanted to get back to training," Dad says carefully. "She wants to volunteer in the next two years and needs to be ready."

"Ah. I see."

But I don't. There's this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach instead.

 _I wonder if the cookie was a bad idea. I don't normally eat sugar._

Then I remember that this is what it feels like to be disappointed. My brow furrows and I grip the edge of my dress, kneading it between my clenched fists.

The feeling persists and the smile I'd tried to recapture fades into the blank mask I only reserve for family members and people who are trying my patience (which is often the same thing, to be completely honest.)

For other people, though- for the cameras, I'm always Bubble: the girl with the ever-present smile.

"She sends her love, though," Mom insists and I know she's lying to make me feel better.

 _Midnight doesn't love me. Midnight would never "send her love." That bitch._

"Knock, knock, family," says the white-haired man who is your escort without bothering to actually knock on the door.

I wonder if he's supposed to look like some kind of fox, with the pieces of his hair spiked and styled into ear-like extensions. Whatever he's imitating, it's just weird.

"It's time to be getting you off to the Capitol," he says, those yellow eyes disappearing behind the squint of his smile. "Can't be late now. Strict schedules."

I stand, nod to my parents and mumble a quick good-bye and exit with him. He puts one hand on my shoulder, and the other on Archer's, who had apparently been waiting in the hallway.

He pushes us out to the train and I can see the glint cameras lenses and reporter's eyes.

The gloom leaves my face instantly. It's a good thing they can't read minds, otherwise instead of seeing a friendly girl, they'd see I'm ready to start a massacre.

I'll be back, though. I'll be back, if only to deck Midnight.


End file.
